


The Love Boat

by vienn_peridot



Series: Citrus Basket [18]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consentacles, Drabble Collection, Drabble Sequence, Dubious Science, Exhibitionism, Gratuitous Smut, Immobilisation kink, Other, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, Tentacles, Threesome, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, and other nonsense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 8,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6548926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lost Light has a problem.<br/>Turns out the crew can help by fragging for a cause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Light

**Author's Note:**

> At the time of posting this is my 60th fic 0.0 I think I have a problem.  
> All characters were volunteered some time last year on Tumblr but I decided to save posting the fic for a special occasion, but I didn't have the patience to wait for my 69th fic *immature snickering*  
> This isn't going to be 100% pr0n because face it, that would be boring. Everything is all laid out so just sit back and enjoy the ride.

Light had been sleeping for a long, long time; content to go into stasis and pretend to be inanimate if that was what it took to avoid conscription into war.

_No exploration in war. No discoveries and no new things to see, either._

Now Light was waking up.

Something had gone wrong with the engines and they had been repaired… rather inexpertly. Quantum drives were tricky at the best of times but the crew should have been able to do better than _that!_

_Someone’s going out the airlocks for this._

Internal diagnostics registered explosive damage and subsequent repairs. Those repairs combined with Light’s self-repair had kept the shipformer spaceworthy. There was something else combined with one of the engine blocks at a molecular level that made Light want to scream and tear the fragging thing out.

_A sparkeater, a slagging_ sparkeater! _What the frag?! How did_ that _get there?_

Light had awoken because there was nothing self-repair could do to remove the foreign material infecting the engine block while running on autopilot. The shipformer’s higher thought processes were required to find a way to fix the problem.

Letting the crew continue to think their ship was still asleep, Light considered the problem.

_I need purely Cybertronian material to replace the space taken up by the sparkeater. Nanite-form would be best. Should replace it a bit at a time, localised quantum phase-shifts should do. Drop some of the nasty outside and replace it with new, a little at a time._

It was a good idea. A brilliant idea, even. There was only one problem.

_Where the frag am I going to get the parts and energy for that?_

One particular word stuck in Light’s processor and the shipformer turned it over a few times, thinking. It was an odd idea, but Light had seen and done stranger things while travelling the universe, and the remains of that sparkeater _really_ needed to be out of the engine.

_Time to ask the crew._

The shipformer’s attention turned inwards, seeing who was awake. There were several candidates but a well-proportioned mech working in the labs caught Light’s optics. The mech was frowning at a datapad, tapping a stylus against the edge of it in an irritated rhythm. Whoever he was, the mech obviously needed a break or a different problem to chew on and Light was quite happy to give him both at once.

_Hmmm. Time to consult a scientist._


	2. Perceptor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the weirdest proposition Perceptor has ever received, but it's pretty darn close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found the original post that started this saga: http://sziondaisy.tumblr.com/post/130641348893/was-if-the-lost-light-was-actually-a-transformer

Perceptor was alone in his lab compiling the results of his latest run of experiments when he heard the clatter of a datapad hitting the floor. He looked up from his work and frowned at the room, half-expecting to see Drift or Brainstorm trying to sneak up on him.

Except for him, the lab was entirely devoid of life.

There was one difference.

An unfamiliar datapad now sat dead-centre of a spare desk he used as a meal table ot to share fuel with his infrequent visitors. The screen of the datapad was lit, the colour emanating from it the same shade Perceptor used to identify projects he considered to be urgent.

_What is going on here?_

Well aware that this could be a prank by any one of a number of his fellow crewmembers, Perceptor saved the current draft of his result collation and slipped the pad he was using for it into his subspace, safely out of harm’s way. He stood and approached his spare desk and the suspicious datapad carefully, alert for any potential traps rigged in silence while he was distracted by his work.

_I didn’t hear the door, so whoever it was is still in here…_

There were no traps, tripwires or explosives that Perceptor could see, so he approached the desk for further inspection at close range. The desk itself and the datapad appeared to be dry; so no contact adhesives to ‘accidentally’ adhere his hand to either pad or tabletop. A careful inhalation detected no volatile compounds in amounts that would give cause for alarm. The scientist growled low in his vocaliser at the interruption and waste of his time, snatching up the datapad to read the contents.

_No._

“There is no way you can expect me to believe this.” Perceptor looked up from the datapad and addressed the apparently empty laboratory. “As pranks go, it is rather lacking.”

“I would hardly expect a scientist to believe an unsubstantiated report.” The words were spoken in a smooth, even-toned voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. “But I _did_ have to get your attention first.”

A smooth cable with three articulated claw-like prongs on the end dropped from the ceiling, neatly plucking the datapad from Perceptor’s hand and placing it on the desk beside him. The scientist’s mind raced, assembling and discarding several hundred hypotheses as he watched the solitary manipulator cable retract, retreating back into the ceiling.

“You have my attention, but not my confidence.” Perceptor remarked dryly. “There are several mechanisms aboard this ship that are quite capable of pulling of a practical joke of this nature.”

There was silence, the pranksters or (if the contents of an unfamiliar datapad was to be believed) the Lost Light itself considering his words. A section of wall rippled and smoothed, taking on a matte paleness much like a blank sheet of paper. Then another ceiling hatch opened and a projector of unfamiliar design descended and Perceptor was given a thorough education in certain oddities of Shipformer cyberbiology and the kind of self-repair systems devoted to quantum engines.

“I… I see.” Perceptor said, investigating the transformed patch of wall. “Your proposal to acquire contributions of nanites and energy by interfacing with willing donors and using those contributions to incrementally replace the sparkeater is intriguing. However you have yet to test this hypothesis, correct?”

“You are indeed correct.” The voice which Perceptor was becoming to more willing to believe was the ship replied. “To the best of my knowledge such a thing has never been attempted before.”

“To the best of my knowledge nobody has ever attempted to use quantum engines to kill a sparkeater before.” Perceptor responded dryly. He turned to face the empty laboratory, scanning the room on every frequency available to him and spreading his arms as anticipation heated his frame. “I am willing to run initial tests of this hypothesis with you, to ascertain if this is indeed the best course of action and aid you in refining the technique before involving the rest of the crew.”

“ _Thank you_.” The ship’s glyphs were filled with sincerity and relief, a long cable dropping from the ceiling to brush affectionately over Perceptor’s cheek. “My designation is Light, how may I address you?”

“Perceptor.”

“I am honoured to conduct research with you, Perceptor.” The ship said, before bringing several more manipulator cables into play and they began ‘researching’ with enthusiasm.

When they decided they had enough data from preliminary testing Perceptor compiled and analysed the information, Light politely cleaning up the mess they’d made and offering the scientist energon. Perceptor accepted the cube and sipped absently, pushing his datapad into the claw of the manipulator cable before it could retreat.

“Preliminary results appear very promising.” Perceptor observed, allowing the shipformer to look over his analysis while he slowly finished off the cube. “What do you think?”

“Seems so. I’m also getting improved readings from that engine block, if my HUD can be believed. It’s not quite enough to show up on external diagnostics yet.” Light mused, setting the datapad down carefully. Perceptor’s engine thrummed with near-silent amusement as the manipulator cable wriggled suggestively. “Shall we endeavour to refine our technique before submitting our findings to the Captain and taking applications for a larger group of participants?”

“Captains, plural.” Perceptor corrected as he captured the shipformer’s sinuous limb and guided it to where he wanted it. “And yes, I believe that would be the wisest course of action.”

By the time they finished refining their technique Perceptor barely had enough energy to contact both Megatron on the bridge and Drift before falling into a sated sleep, Light pulling a thermal cover over him as he drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwwww Percy's all tuckered out OuO


	3. Cyclonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyclonus steps up to the plate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wing rubbies and some sticky, idk what happened here *shrugs*

Cyclonus reviewed the officer on duty’s official announcement with extreme scepticism.

It sounded exactly like the kind of crackpot scheme or prank Rodimus would cook up to ‘improve morale’ or something.

Except Megatron was the Officer on Duty, and the announcement had come from him.

_Maybe Rodimus is behind this after all?_

It wasn’t impossible to forge an electronic signature, after all.

A smooth, androgynous voice emerged from the general comm speaker in the ceiling, interrupting his thoughts.

“You find it hard to believe, don’t you?”

Whoever it was, they sounded amused.

“Of course I do.” Cyclonus said dryly, “If this ship was sentient I’m sure we would have noticed by now.”

There was an exasperated noise and the external wall suddenly fragmented, rearranging itself so that when it stilled the window was now of a size and shape for both Cyclonus and Tailgate to be able to use comfortably, without Cyclonus having to duck or Tailgate having to use the small stepstool he’d tacked to the floor. Stepping forward, the warrior ran careful claws over the edge of the window, watching minute transformation seams twitch and settle in their wake.

_That… is too much effort for any of the pranksters on board._

“…I see.” He was unable to find anything else to say.

“Really?” That smooth voice sounded amused; in a friendly, vaguely condescending kind of way. “I thought that might have gotten more of a reaction out of you than ‘ _I see_ ’.”

Cyclonus glared at the speaker in the ceiling.

“Do you want my aid or not?” He growled, flaring his plating. “Insulting me isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“That was rude of me.” Light said softly. “I apologise. You are similar in appearance to someone I once knew; I forgot myself and I apologise.”

Something about the way the shipformer spoke killed Cyclonus’ angry retort, leaving it to die on his glossa while he considered the situation. He had been without physical company for a long, long time and what Light was offering definitely appealed.

_And Tailgate is going to be out late…_

“You can apologise with a wing massage.” Cyclonus ran his hand over the smooth plating of the wall. “And we can discuss other activities afterwards.”

There was a chuckle at that, a soft slithering sound and a change in airflow announcing the presence of several long somethings emerging from ceiling and floor behind him.

“Your wings are in good hands, I promise.” Light said as something gentle unerringly found the leading edge of one folded flightpanel, stroking with the perfect amount of pressure.

Cyclonus struggled to find his voice, already shivering with anticipation as he extended his wings fully and locked them out. Light must have seen this as an invitation to move to more comprehensive molestation of the sensitive surfaces, because more gentle _somethings_ joined the first, drawing matching patterns across purple enamel with a feather-light touch.

It was perfect, exquisite torture and they’d barely started.

“You… don’t have…” Cyclonus was embarrassed by the way his vocal control was deteriorating. “Wings.”

“Not in this configuration.” Light murmured, large cables coiling solicitously around Cyclonus’ waist, helping his stay upright as his knees wobbled. “I do in others.”

“I… see.” All he could do was repeat himself, relaxing into the hold of surprisingly sturdy cables as every single ache and itch was searched out and soothed, allowing other sensations to be more fully enjoyed.

“Would you like to lie down?” Light asked. “Supporting you is no effort at all, but I think you might be more comfortable that way.”

Cyclonus shook his head.

“No. Here, like this.” His voice was a low, feral growl and Cyclonus surprised himself with the raw lust in his tone. “Against the window. Take me where I can see the stars.”

Light might not have expected Cyclonus to change his mind so quickly but there was no hesitation in the way the cables surrounding him moved from simply supporting to a sensual hold, the touches to his wings became deliberately arousing. Cyclonus retracted his primary interfacing armour, arching into delicate caresses that teased the inner covers open, his spike pressurising into something that felt remarkably like a wet, snug valve.

Groaning low in his chest, Cyclonus gave himself over to the opportunity for pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cazza keep your hair on there will be hardcore porn in this but not every bloody chapter because do you know how /boring/ and repetitive that would be to write?! XD


	4. Ultra Magnus/Minimus Ambus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minimus discovers a novel and thoroughly satisfactory use for tiny tentacles and suction hoses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sounding. I have no idea how it works from the recipient's POV. I tried.

“I am afraid that the fluid reservoirs of the armour are depleted.” Ultra Magnus reported as Light’s cables withdrew from his frame. He felt a pang of loss as a slim line withdrew from the internal canal of his spike.

“The armour?” The ship queried, giving Magnus the impression of a raised optical ridge.

He almost chuckled to himself, restraining the urge at the last minute and contenting himself with the smallest possible smile.

“Allow me to show you.” Getting out of the chair was harder than he anticipated, his knees were distinctly wobbly. “What you see is a deep-wired set of armour that came with a job I have subsequently resigned from.”

“You kept the uniform when you quit, of course.” Light sounded amused.

“Of course.” Magnus was unruffled. “The armour has its uses and the company is now defunct.”

Before the shipformer could question him further, Minimus Ambus disengaged from the armour and stepped casually from the middle of the pile of parts, listening to the considering hum that emanated from the overhead speakers.

“May I ask which designation you used before you accepted that job?” Light asked cautiously.

“Minimus Ambus.” Magnus –now Minimus- said. “I would prefer it if you used that designation when I am not inside the armour. The position I filled was… rather complicated.”

“I see.” Light’s tone indicated that the shipformer wasn’t going to pry, for which Minimus was grateful. “If I may change the subject; would you like me to drain your reservoir in a similar fashion this time, or is there something else you’d like to do?”

Minimus shivered, frame heating as he remembered the ship former probing into the armour’s spike.

“Same again, please.” His voice was embarrassingly hoarse as pure greed took control of his vocaliser. “It _has_ been a long time, so perhaps we could… start out small and work up to an appropriately-sized extractor?”

Strong cables cradled his smaller frame, moving Minimus into a reclining position like some noble lord relaxing upon a couch in their boudoir.

“I have no problems with doing that.” Light said as the head of a cable unfurled before Minimus’ optics, displaying a dozen fine tendrils of varying thicknesses. One particularly slim one remained extended while the others retreated back into the main body of the cable. “Does this look right? Would you like thicker or thinner?”

Lust stole Minimus’ voice as his optics drank in the sight of the slim prong, obediently motionless and acting for all the world like a proper sounding instrument as Light swivelled the end of the cable, allowing him to inspect it from multiple angles. This pseudo-sound was slightly smaller than the actual dimensions of the channel in his spike; he would barely feel it.

It would be the most incredible tease imaginable.

Several vocaliser resets were required before Minimus could voice his approval. His hands shook as he poured lubricant over the tentacle-sound, his hand, his spike, even his abdominal armour. Mess didn’t matter right now, he could clean up later.

Passing the nearly-empty bottle off to one of Light’s helpful manipulator cables, Minimus slowly stroked his spike as Light’s impossibly fine tendril flexed, curled around the head of his spike, seeking and finding the small orifice in the tip. Minimus had to let go of his spike then, reaching out blindly and grabbing at the cables surrounding him as his hips bucked into the impossibly pleasurable sensations. He couldn’t stay still; Light had to clamp down on his torso in order to continue the slow invasion of Minimus’ spike channel without injuring him.

Minimus’ entire vocabulary was reduced to just ‘yes’ and ‘more’ by the time Light had stretched his spike channel enough to introduce the smallest suction tube and fit it to the opening of the green mech’s nanite reservoir. When it was in place Minimus was panting and trembling on the verge of overload, fumbling for his spike.

Two firm strokes of his spike tipped him into bliss like he’d never known before and Minimus Ambus screamed his overload until his vocaliser broke.

 


	5. Rung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung needs to keep his hands to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little tentacle bondage.

“I must say, it’s been a while since I’ve spoken with a shipformer.” Rung said, caressing the manipulator cable that coiled in his lap like a large, friendly snake. “Not since a while before the war.”

“Is that innuendo or literal fact?” The ship asked, adding “I’m sorry; I’m still getting up to speed with the dialects of Cybertronian commonly in use by the crew.”

Rung used both hands to scoop a coil of cable to his faceplates, pressing his forehelm to the smooth articulated plating.

“I intended my statement to be literal, but it could also be innuendo.” He blew a gentle stream of air over the delicate filaments that had extended from the metallic tentacle in his hands, watching them retract. “How would you like me?”

“Whichever way you prefer.” Light’s smooth voice held a note of reluctance. “Unfortunately I need to concentrate on the quantum displacements in order to remove the sparkeater material; I cannot afford to be distracted by reciprocation.”

Humming soothingly, Rung removed his glasses with one hand and tucked them safely away, stroking the segmented cable coiled on his lap with the other hand.

“I understand completely.” Rung paused as something occurred to him. “May I ask what you’re doing with any excess charge caused by these activities? I understand that the residual sparkeater material in your engine block is dangerous, but I cannot help you in good conscience if you are doing something risky.”

An unseen cable tweaked his antenna teasingly. Rung dropped his antennae flat to his helm and glared at the walls.

“I have shut down as much pleasure input as I can for the duration of this operation.” Light’s voice was detached, clinical. “Excess charge generated by the remainder that I can’t shut off and also by psychological arousal is added to that harvested from overloads to power the molecular-level quantum displacements I am using to rid myself of the sparkeater contaminant.”

It made sense. Too much sense, from Rung’s point of view.

_Next time I hope there isn’t a sparkeater involved so Light can get off too. At least, I hope there_ is _a next time._

“I see. Then perhaps it would be best if you restrained my hands, since I may forget myself during our activities.” Rung held his wrists out in offering, engine revving as two more cables emerged from hidden panels to immobilise his arms. “Mmmm, _yes_. Just like that.”

“Bound and fragged is to be the nature of this encounter, then?” Light teased, sending careful probes to explore Rung’s flared plating, “Would you like me to make you beg for an overload, or overload until you ask me to stop?”

Metal slid over metal in a smooth caress, powerful cables snaking up Rung’s legs and pulling them gently apart to bare his heated pelvic armour to the cooler air of the room.

“Either. Both.” Rung couldn’t decide; he loved both options equally. “So long as we do this again when I can also attempt bring you pleasure.”

It took ridiculously little teasing for Rung to bare his array to Light’s attentive cables, arching and gasping as delicate touches stroked over his swelling valve and swiftly pressurising spike. The shipformer experimented with different strokes and pressures as cables explored Rung’s frame, repeating whatever brought the strongest reactions until the orange mech was whimpering and struggling against the cables restraining him, trying to get his hands down to his array to soothe the burning lust.

Something kissed the head of his spike and Rung’s hips jerked uselessly as he tried and failed to get _more_.

Looking down his frame, Rung saw the end of a cable hovering teasingly close to the tip of his erect spike. There end of the cable was indented and he thought he could make out a puckered opening hiding in the dip before it was lowered to nudge the tip of his spike. Rung’s hips jerked in a reflexive attempt to shove his spike into that small opening and get some relief for the arousal burning through him.

The cable moved with him, denying him the sensation of sinking into that welcoming orifice he could feel waiting just out of reach.

“Light, _please_.”

“Please what, Rung?”

“Just frag me already, _please!_ ”

The ship complied, cable descending to take Rung’s spike in a snug grip that milked him of his nanites as he exploded into overload, voice shattering into a binary cry of pure pleasure.


	6. Megatron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much responsible. Very work. Wow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more a related collection of loose drabbles than actual proper chapters, but that's about all I have the brainpower for right now. Meh.

“Are you not the type of Captain to lead by example, then?” Light teased idly.

The progress report projected on the wall of Megatron's office flickered and updated, showing a 2% reduction in sparkeater matter infecting the troubled engine block.

“I am on duty, it wouldn’t be appropriate.” He replied, most of his attention on the datapad he was currently working on.

“ _Please_ , as if writing poetry when you’re supposed to be reviewing departmental reports is considered appropriate.”

“How did you-” Even though he knew it was futile, Megatron covered the datapad. “That is beside the point. I am perfectly capable of reading and processing the information in those datapads as well as completing this stanza by the end of my duty shift." He growled, then tried to change the subject. "Afterwards I will be more than happy to assist the rest of the crew with their…efforts, assuming Ultra Magnus is on time.”

“Very well. I shall keep you updated on the progress, Captain. And you might want to change that last line; it’s inconsistent with the imagery of the rest of your composition and completely fails to counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor.”

Megatron wondered who the slagging ship had been talking to, to know that quote already.

Then he decided he really _didn’t_ want to know.

“Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous Hitchiker's Guide quote because I can.  
> Captain Megs being a poet reminds me of the Vogons so it was a foregone conclusion XD  
>  _"And if we're unlucky?" "The Captain might read us some of his poetry first."_


	7. Blaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spikejobs in 4/4 time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to read a bunch of Blaster-centric oneshots and PWP to try to figure out his character, but I still have no real idea what he's like in IDW so this is short.

In Blaster’s opinion this was one of the best ways to spend an evening.

Megatron’s message had woken him and after a few minutes of thinking the Hostmech had offered his services to the ship.

Right now, Blaster was catching Light up on all the music that the shipformer had missed while sleeping. He was reclining on his berth with his spike buried in one of Light’s cables, the cable rippling around his shaft in time with the beat.

_Musical spikejob. This is bliss._

He indirectly controlled the speed at which Light got him off by switching songs, the tempo of whatever piece he played dictating the pace at which the cable pulsed around him. Blaster had no need to touch himself, sketching the beat in the air with one hand while the other one rested on the pillow above his helm. Overload would creep upon him with a wave of tingling heat that gathered low in his chest, shooting down to his array to burst like a firework.

It had been a long day so Blaster didn’t have as many rounds in him as he’d like, slipping into sated sleep with a mumbled apology.

The last thing he remembered hearing before powering down was Light attempting a tone-deaf rendition of an old Kaonite lullaby.


	8. Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift needs to de-stress. Light's timing is... _handy_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of clothing kink and a whole pile of trash-talk.
> 
> My Greatsword headcanons and Drift headcanons/characterisation aren't fandom-compliant. Here is me not giving a fuck.

Drift was meditating with the Greatsword when he got Megatron’s official announcement.

“I wondered when you were going to wake up.” He said to the walls.

A rude noise came from the speakers overhead.

“I could have done without the sparkeater wake-up call.” Light said, the timbre of that smooth voice sending tingles down Drift’s spinal column despite the irritation it contained. “How the slag did it get on board? I’m assuming you know, it was your designation on the purchase record.”

Drift rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling embarrassed and a little ashamed that he hadn't noticed.

“I honestly don’t know; it was already here when we boarded. And we didn’t know until after someone tried to sabotage your engines.”

“ _Sabotaged_ them with a _sparkeater_.”

Light was _definitely_ slagged off and Drift fought the urge to shrink before the shipformer’s indignant rage.

_Big, angry people_ always _make me want to hide._

“The sparkeater was an accident.” Drift tried to project confidence and sincerity. He wasn’t sure how well he succeeded. “We were trying to kill it and Rodimus remembered what happened to the person who tried to sabotage the engine block, how they kinda fused with it when we jumped away from Cybertron, so he used the sparkeater’s current target as bait to get the thing to the engine room, then held it against your engine block while Percy engaged the quantum drives.”

Light was silent for a minute, digesting the story.

“So you’re not _directly_ responsible.” The shipformer stated flatly.

“Yes and no. I should have checked everything thoroughly beforehand, but we were in a bit of a hurry and I thought you were only napping, not that you’d been asleep for so long and wouldn’t have noticed.”

A warm breeze flowed over Drift’s plating as Light sighed. His finials twitched as what felt like a deliberate exhalation ticked the sensitive metal.

“What’s done is done.” Light sounded resigned. “Do you want to help fix the mess, or would you like to indulge yourself in that guilt trip I can see you embarking on?”

“I… _what?_ ” Drift was about to deny doing any such thing when the gem in Aequitas’ hilt glowed brightly, the sword’s presence in his Spark pulsing with a flicker of warm Wing-like amusement. He dragged a hand over his faceplates, cursing internally.

_Blasted meddling Sword._

“Alright, _fine_. You got me.” Drift grumbled, rising from his meditative post to settle Aequitas in the specially-installed wall rack. “Getting off is more fun than a guilt trip, any day.”

The hum of agreement that emerged from the intercom speakers sounded just a little smug.

“How would you like to get off?”

“Shuttlebay is the usual method of going offship, although I _have_ considered throwing people out the windows a few times.” Drift deliberately pretended to misunderstand, then threw his hands in the air when the ship remained silent. “Primus, Light. I don’t know! Faking it is easy but you need the real deal and it takes more to get me running hot than the offer of a random quickie. I want to do this but-”

_Aw slag._

Drift bit his glossa hard enough to taste energon. That was more than Light needed to know, and with the sparkeater situation the last thing the shipformer needed was Drift venting his worries instead of getting down to business.

“What _does_ get you running hot?” Light asked, apparently unperturbed by Drift’s sudden outburst. “That would be the obvious place to start.”

Drift felt his finials burning as every naughty little thing that got his pistons firing tumbled through his processor in a burst of illicit imagery.

“Oh you innocent ones are adorable.” Light said fondly. “I promise you I’ve seen a lot; I’m not about to start judging someone based solely on their kinks.”

“Innocent? _Me?!_ ” Drift couldn’t believe his audials. The sheer absurdity of anyone calling _him_ innocent was enough to send the swordsmech into gales of laughter that had him curled on the floor wheezing as his optics overflowed. “Oh that’s a _good_ one. Make sure you tell Roddy, he’ll _crash_.”

The laughter was enough to kill Drift’s nerves and the stress that had been building for the last few weeks despite his best efforts with meditation.

“Alright, let me get my gloves and I’ll give you a hand.” Drift panted, smiling widely enough that his cheeks hurt and his fangs were probably showing. “You can take _that_ any way you want.”

“I’d rather leave both your hands attached to your frame.” Light said with patently fake outrage as Drift unlocked and opened a drawer reserved for special occasions. “What the slag am I supposed to do with hands from a mech _your_ size? Hood ornaments went out of style _millennia_ ago.”

Drift made a vague noise, feeling his cooling fans engage as he looked over his very special private collection, trying to decide what he wanted to use first.

“That’s a nice collection, although I don’t quite understand the purpose.” Light observed neutrally, giving Drift the sudden feeling that the ship was standing behind him, looking over his shoulder. “I _was_ joking about the hands stuff.”

Making his decision, Drift picked up a pair of wrist-length gloves in a suedelike material and closed the drawer carefully. He drew them on slowly, letting his optics slip offline as he increased his tactile input and savoured the feeling of the fabric over his armour.

A panel opened in the wall, a long cable snaking out to pull the drawer open so Light could see Drift’s entire collection. It wasn’t as extensive as he’d like, but Drift was still extremely proud of what he had acquired so far.

“I know, but it gave me an idea.” The speedster finally said, voice emerging huskier than normal. “I kinda… well I _really_ like soft fabrics and dressing up and stuff. But it’s hard to get anything really nice made for Cybertronians, plus it gets really expensive. But gloves are a nice compromise.” Drift slid his suede-covered fingers over transformation seams on his thighs, shivering at the sensations. “A really _nice_ compromise.”

He demonstrated by reaching out and stroking the cable, which twitched and jumped under his teasing caresses.

“I see.” Light sounded a little strained.

Drift laughed, returning to teasing at his own seams until he overloaded with a throaty moan with Light’s cable pulsing around his spike, drinking in the rush of nanites and charge.

Then a message from Perceptor had Drift hurrying to remove his gloves and heading for the labs, using his altmode to hide the way his legs were shaking a little with a combination of post-overload wobbles and burning anticipation.


	9. Whirl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the big bad Whirlybird likes post-coital cuddles.

Whirl couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy.

Suspended in a writhing mass of cables like the weirdest hug he’d never imagined. The vocal inhibitor he’d clipped to his throat (because really, the last thing anyone wanted to do was listen to _him_ moaning) didn’t mask the purring of his engine as he tried to burrow deeper into the ship’s embrace.

Wire-fine cilia exploring every inch of his frame, flicking curiously under flared armour plates. Occasionally Light found something misaligned and gently tweaked it back into place, but for the most part the shipformer seemed happy to just hold Whirl’s limp frame until he was ready for another round.

Whirl was more than fine with that.

Six overloads in a row took more out of him than he remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whirl's designation appears under synonyms for 'touch-starved' in my dictionary. Bite me.


	10. Ratchet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet has some interesting tricks to share.

The lube bottle was empty.

Ratchet growled under his breath and tossed it at the waste bin. He missed, but one of Light’s many manipulator cables caught it and dropped it in the trash. Frowning with concentration, Ratchet carefully slid two fingers from each hand into his valve entrance, trying to ignore the jolt of pleasure that threatened to turn into overload.

“I think you were wet enough already without that stuff.” The shipformer observed as Ratchet spread his valve wide. “Why did you use so much, anyway?”

“The wetter I am the easier it is for you to find my tank from the inside.” The medic grunted. “Get one of those smaller ones in me and start feeling along the anterior wall.”

He made a strangled little sound (that _wasn’t_ a squeak thank you) as one of the medium-girthed cables did as asked, sliding between his fingers and into the opening between them. The cable suctioned to his spike rippled, feeding the storm building in his circuits. Light mapped the location of nodes and tested the resistance of his callipers one torturous micrometer at a time, feeling for the shape of his nanite reservoir.

“Not the posterior wall as well?” Light sounded amused. “I can feel a lot of sensors firing off back there.”

Ratchet tossed his helm from side to side, denying the imminent overload warnings as he struggled to remember how to speak.

“Definitely not, if you want this to work.” He choked out. “Just a little further.”

He hadn’t had time to indulge himself in a little solo pleasure since embarking on this idiot quest, so Ratchet figured _this_ little trick would feel extra good as well as giving Light the largest donation possible for his first round.

“That’s it!” Ratchet gasped as the cable exploring his insides found the lower boundary of his tank. Letting his fingers slip out of his valve, grabbing the berth cover with both sticky hands and arching into the pulsating pressure around his spike. “YES, LIGHT! RIGHT _THERE!_ ”

Ratchet screamed himself hoarse as he overloaded, the shipformer applying careful pressure to his nanite reservoir through the wall of his valve. It felt like he trying to overload himself inside-out, valve spasming over the cable inside and spike shooting a continuous stream into the apparently insatiable ship’s suction cable. It was far more intense than the old medic expected, only one thought floating in the post-overload haze as his cooling fans screamed in complaint.

 _I really_ should _wank more often. Or find a frag buddy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He'd probably be less grumpy if he got off more often...


	11. Perceptor (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perceptor is refreshed and back at work.

When Perceptor woke up from his nap the first thing he did was send a message to Drift, the second was to obey a command on his HUD to refuel, pulling a pre-mixed cube of enriched midgrade from subspace.

The third thing Perceptor did was to pursue the path of knowledge.

_It used to be that fuel and others came last. I think Drift would be proud of me._

“So how much progress have you made so far?” Perceptor asked, sipping at his fuel.

Instead of speaking, Light lowered the projector again, giving Perceptor a condensed visual version of the progress that had been made while he was resting. Perceptor frowned at it, calculations streaming through his processors. Sternly, Perceptor reminded himself to finish the cube before writing any of those calculations down. His nap had been refreshing but his frame would also need proper sustenance if he was to be able to continue helping with the problem in Light’s engines.

A reply arrived from Drift, the spelling and grammar telling Perceptor everything he needed to know about his lover’s current state.

_I have a while before Drift gets here…_

“I think there might be a way to streamline this.” He pulled a datapad and stylus from subspace, beginning to work.


	12. Ratchet (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Checking in on Ratchet and Light's Happy Fun Time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I'm back in Kiwiland, sort-of adjusted to the timezone and getting back to work and writing. Or trying to.
> 
>  
> 
> Tentacles with a side-order of fluids and stuffing. Referenced fisting.

Lack of lube was no longer a problem.

While Light continued to suck up every drop of fluid that emerged from his spike Ratchet’s lower half and the berth beneath him was absolutely drenched with what had flowed from his valve during his overloads.

Right now Ratchet’s main problem was convincing Light that he wasn’t made of tissue and glass.

“Do you seriously want another cable in there?” The shipformer was asking. “I don’t want to damage you and the three you’ve got already are _not_ small.”

“Light, look at my hand.” Ratchet held up a fist, ignoring how it shook as the three smooth cables in his valve moved in an exquisite spiraling dance. “Got a few mods in Vos so I can take something with that girth, no trouble. Trust me, I want another cable and I’m _damn_ sure I can take it without sustaining any damage.”

Contemplative humming filled Ratchet’s audials, buzzing pleasantly through his denta and spinal struts as the shipformer considered his claim. His plating tingled as something like his own mass-density scans ran over his frame, leaving him shivering and trying not to squirm on the berth. The cables buried inside him flexed, spreading and testing the give of internal mechanisms, gauging how much space was left.

“Alright, let’s start out with a slimmer one then slowly increase the thickness like we did before.” Light’s voice was wicked as a slender cable descended to wave sensuously in Ratchet’s field of vision.

Ratchet agreed enthusiastically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...this fucking drabble/chapter/THING defied me for seven. fucking. months.  
>  Probably Ratchet getting revenge for me being such a colossal bitch to him in pretty much every single non-porn fic I write *shrug*


	13. Rung [2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light isn't very good at this 'protestation as part of the fun' thing.  
> Rung is too worked up to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Overload denial, consent-tentacle bondage, suspension, tentacles, mild plug-n-play, referenced safewords.

“Please.” Rung panted, “ _Please_ Light, let me overload.”

Grounding wires plugged into his ports thrummed, gently drawing charge away. He was so close to completion, had been hovering on the brink for what felt like an eternity although his chronometer disagreed.

“I’m just doing what you asked.” The shipformer said mildly as wire-fine tendrils snaked under armour plating, stroking places that hadn’t been touched since Primus-knew-when. “Drawing out the last one to feel as good as possible.”

Rung keened and thrashed under the tactile onslaught. He was reveling in the exquisite torture, mind slowing down, every thought focusing on one thing and one thing alone.

The all-consuming need to overload.

To end this excruciatingly pleasurable balancing act and freefall into paradise.

“I-I know, but…”

“Do you want to use that word?” Worry was clear in Light’s tone, manipulator arms holding Rung suspended gentled their grip on wrists and thighs.

Almost beyond words, Rung shook his helm vigorously.

“Then I believe you can hold on a little longer.” The shipformer said, renewing the onslaught of pleasure. “You really are incredible, Rung.”

Rung didn’t even hear that last sentence. The cables sneaking under his thigh armour were approaching a very interesting spot and distracting him entirely.

Biting his lip, he shifted that leg, trying to get Light to move just that tiny bit further, hit _that sensor there_ and…

The grounding wires hummed, drawing charge away.

Caught between desperation and delight, Rung keened as the ship continued their game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Rung chapter for this fic.   
> Drift/Percy/Light up next.


	14. Drift [2] & Perceptor [3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perceptor shows off his smarts.  
> Drift can't resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:  
> Drift/Perceptor and a kink for smart people being smart.

Drift transformed outside the lab and stood, glad that he was able to walk steadily inside. He felt giddy, anticipation fizzing through his lines as his entry request was granted and the lab door slid open to admit him to Perceptor’s domain.

When he entered the lab he was greeted by the familiar sound of Perceptor’s amused chuckle. He knew that sound well, as well as he knew the state Perceptor was currently in. The lazy smile that Perceptor turned in his direction proved his guess right.

_Very well-fragged, although nowhere near done yet._

“So what do you make of the situation, Percy?” Drift asked as he leaned against a stable-looking workbench.

Perceptor was animated in a way Drift hadn’t seen in a long time; he was obviously deeply involved in whatever calculations he was trying to explain and relaxed enough that his movements had an unconscious grace instead of the almost predatory smoothness Drift had become accustomed to. After a while Light joined in the one-sided conversation, objecting to one of Perceptor’s estimates and engaging the ‘scope in a heated debate.

In fact, as his baseline level of charge rose and systems warmed he wasn’t quite sure which was more arousing: A nicely fragged and relaxed Perceptor or Perceptor in full Science Nerd mode. The afterglow of what was probably several good overloads emanating from Perceptor wasn’t helping him figure it out at all. He followed along as best he could, throttling back his engine every time it threatened to purr loud enough to distract his lover and pressing his thighs together whenever his interfacing array complained too much about lack of attention.

It wasn’t until Perceptor shot him an amused glance that Drift realised that he was _squirming,_ his recently-polished hip plating squeaking against the bench. It was a little embarrassing, but it was the way Perceptor licked his lips as he focused on Drift’s movements that made the speedster’s finials heat.

“So, how many more overloads do you think you’re gonna need, Light?” Drift asked, dropping his voice to the low growl Perceptor liked just so he could watch the mech shiver.

“A larger number than I anticipated.” The shipformer said dryly. “I’m still refining my technique for removing the Sparkeater matter and I’m nowhere near as efficient as I’d like, yet.”

Drift made a show of stretching, arms high above his helm, twisting his torso and widening his stance a little to give Perceptor an eyeful of the clean, aerodynamic lines he claimed to love.

“We’d best get onto that, then.” Dropping his arms, Drift beckoned at a rather slack-jawed Perceptor. “You still got that cot in your office, love?”

“Yes, and I reinforced it after last time.” Perceptor said as they moved almost as one towards the room Drift had mentioned.

_Mmmm, last time was_ good _. But I have something different in mind today…_

“Alright, Light; I hope you’re taking notes on this.” Drift said as he guided Perceptor down onto the soft padded surface of the cot. Unlike the last time when they’d actually managed to break all four supports of Perceptor’s cot, this time Drift intended to pleasure his lover slowly and thoroughly. “Speedsters know more than one gear.”

After carefully slipping one of Light’s fluid collection hoses onto each of their spikes and lost himself in worshipping every inch of Perceptor’s frame. Gentle claws teased into fine seams, lips and glossa ghosted over delicate receptors and by the time Drift got anywhere near Perceptor’s lower panel he was babbling a litany of praise in a mixture of academic language and street vulgarity that brought Drift to overload without even being touched.

When Perceptor became too oversensitive to continue they curled carefully together on the small cot, trading kisses and whispered words until the call of recharge became too strong to ignore. The last thing Drift registered before unconsciousness claimed him was the feeling of a light blanket being draped over their entwined frames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update was brought to you by some seriously awesome people.


	15. Ratchet [3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medical models are built for stamina, but even they have their limits.

Cables. Cables _everywhere_.

Thick metal tentacles twined Ratchet’s limbs, holding him still so a smaller one could frag him with his favourite false spike. He had run out of nanites at some point while stuffed full of cables so now he was happily (and liberally) donating energy in the form of repeated overloads.

It had been a long, long time since Ratchet had enjoyed himself this thoroughly and he knew he’d be feeling it in aching joints and struts for a long time afterwards.

He simply didn’t care.

_Worth it. Every slagging second._

When recharge claimed him Ratchet fell asleep with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a lot harder than I anticipated to find motivation to work on this even though it's just a drabble collection :/


	16. Rewind & Chromedome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They'll never turn down a threesome with an attractive shipformer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immobilisation kink, threesome, exhibitionism.

It wasn’t the first threesome they’d had, but it was by far the weirdest.

 _A_ good _kind of weird._

That was Rewind’s opinion as he watched Light wrap his Conjunx in a cocoon of tentacle-like cables, keeping Chromedome’s vents clear while holding the mech snug and immobile. All Rewind could see was the bright blue light of a visor reflecting off smoothly segmented metal, all he could hear over the sound of his own cooling fans was Chromedome’s contented purring as the shipformer swaddled the larger mech.

Right now the level of restraint Chromedome was vocally enjoying was something that Rewind could only manage with half a day and a few hundred kilometres of Kevlar bandaging.

Chromedome loved being wrapped up like this, and Rewind loved see the blissed-out puddle he became whenever they managed it.

From the pulsing of the cable sheathing Chromedome’s spike Rewind could tell that his Conjunx was enjoying slow, lazy overloads with no rush to completion. It matched the warm, fuzzy feeling in his spark as he spread his legs and ordered Light to tilt the larger mech just so.

Rewind quite enjoyed being watched, and he could tell that Chromedome was in the mood for some light entertainment to enjoy while he was held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 20/7: Fixed a typo TuT  
> "That was Rewind’s opinion as he watched Light **wrap** his Conjunx in a cocoon of tentacle-like cables,"  
>  nOT  
> "That was Rewind’s opinion as he watched Light **crap** his Conjunx in a cocoon of tentacle-like cables,"  
>  Thank you for telling me, omfg don't ever edit tired X'D


	17. First Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Aid gets to indulge in one of his deepest, most secret fantasies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blindfolding, Fantasy fulfillment, Imaginary (wrecker) gangclang

First Aid took a deep, steadying in-vent and tied the blindfold over his visor with trembling hands.

_I can’t believe I’m doing this_.

“I’m ready.” He said to the room, holding out his arms out.

A slithering sound reached his audials and moments later thick cables slid around his wrists and ankles, slithering up his limbs as Light lifted him from the decking. First Aid moaned into the darkness of his blindfold as the cables held him suspended, spread-eagle in the air.

Smaller cables grouped together felt very much like large hands as they moved over his plating, caressing seams and coaxing his cooling system into a higher gear.

It wasn’t long before one traced a deliberate line down his chestplates that had Aid thrashing and whining, vents blasting hot air into his room as another pseudo-hand cupped his pelvic armour. The sound his panels made when they burst open brought a painful flush of embarrassment to First Aid’s faceplates. Light didn’t say anything, sliding several tentacles through Aid’s folds as another bundle curled around his spike, mimicking the grip of a large hand.

_Three ‘hands’. Two mechs? Oh_ Primus!

Then something brushed over the head of his aching spike. Something hot and slick that slid down First Aid’s shaft to take him right to the baseplate. He couldn’t feel the end, couldn’t feel much friction from the loose sleeve than enclosed him.

“F-frag.” He gasped, jerking his hips into the thing encasing him. “Spri-Light, _frag!_ ”

Light was polite enough not to bring up the slip as First Aid began pounding energetically into the tentacle, imagining green plating behind his blindfold as he careened towards what promised to be one of the strongest overloads of his life. When it hit First Aid kept thrusting, the brief suction of his ejaculate being drawn away felt like the first pulse of overload from a larger lover.

It passed too quickly, leaving him desperate for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah he almost shouted Springer's name XD  
> First Aid railing Springer gives me life TuT


	18. Ultra Magnus [2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Magnus Armour is recharged and ready for another round.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ultra Magnus: VERY WRECKED.
> 
> Flirting, light banter

Minimus had seen Lights' fascination with the concept of the Magnus Armour when he’d removed it earlier, so he really shouldn’t have been surprised when the shipformer insisted on assisting him with the process of donning it again.

He was also surprised by the way Light gently stroked his frame as it vanished, repeating the caresses on each piece of the Magnus Armour after it reconnected to his systems.

“You are absolutely _stunning_.” The shipformer murmured. Minimus could feel Light’s hidden optics studying him intently as he settled into the mindset and mannerisms more appropriate for the guise he now wore. “Cybertron was robbed when you agreed to become a cop. You would have made a killing as a performer.”

Minimus –now Magnus- rolled his optics. A horrible habit he’d picked up from Rodimus.

“Hardly.” He said dryly, running a final check of the neural interface to make sure everything was in working order. “And Cybertron has always needed honest Enforcers more than it has needed another disreputable entertainer.”

“As opposed to an honest entertainer?” A low laugh thrummed through Light’s glyphs as the shipformer brushed specks of dust both real and imagined from Magnus’ armour with prissy flicks of manipulator cables.

Some strange and light emotion, something he might label _playful_ and _flirtatious_ in another mech, bubbled up in Magnus’ spark. The way the shipformer was subtly helping him to adjust armour plates back into proper alignment helped him relax enough to indulge in expressing the feeling, just this once. Some manipulator cables lingered in their attentions, delivering comforting caresses that had unexpected arousal sparking through the Magnus Armours’ fully recovered systems.

_Hmm…_

“Are you intent on turning me into a disreputable enforcer, then?” He asked, surprised by the harmonics and subglyphs that emerged from his vocaliser.

_Me. Flirting. Tyrest would be_ appalled _._

After the incident on Luna One it was an infinitely satisfying thought.

“Absolutely not.” Light was firm. “I would fail horribly.”

“So long as we are clear on that subject.” Magnus decided to indulge in a quiet chuckle at the absurdity of his suggestion. “Perhaps you could assist me in checking to see if the deep-wiring has reestablished full connectivity with my own neural systems?”

Light did.

Slowly, gently and _very_ thoroughly.

By the time the Magnus Armour’s nanite tank was empty again he was just barely awake enough to thank the shipformer before falling into exhausted recharge with a tiny smile tugging up the corners of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light miiiiiiiight have a thing for exosuits and things of that nature.


	19. Brainstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brainstorm is trying to science. Please try again later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL BUGGER ME, THIS CHAPTER IS SFW.  
> And tiny. But I don't care.

“Look, I’m certain you can boost the efficiency of your mass-transfers by at _least_ twelve percent but I need to run through my calculations again.” Brainstorm was saying, firmly ignoring the manipulator cables dangling petulantly from the ceiling of his quarters. “I really think I can speed this up for you but I need to be _absolutely sure_ of the math before you go mucking about with quantum displacement equations.”

What he didn’t mention was that it was incredibly hard to accept the offer, that he felt guilty for taking even this much time away from his self-appointed task.

Not that it mattered; once he was ready he’d have all the time he needed.

Brainstorm needed to make sure that after this he would still be able to carry out his plan. He hadn’t realised they were dealing with a shipformer; he needed to factor that into his own private calculations.

“Can’t you find someone else to frag in the meantime?” Brainstorm added, frowning at his datapad. “There’s plenty of mechs on this ship who are in dire need of a good overload or ten.”

Light’s laugh rolled through the room, vibrating pleasantly against Brainstorm’s wings.

“That’s the truest thing anyone has said since I woke up.” The ship said, collecting empty datapads and a spare stylus from Brainstorm’s desk. “Whatever you idiots have been up to for the last several thousand years, it didn’t include anywhere _near_ enough fragging.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light was only sulking a little tiny bit. It was mostly for show.  
> Some of the people on the Lost Light need to fucking RELAX before they do themselves an injury XD


End file.
